


We Lie to Ourselves Most of All

by apostatequeen



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Mason is tender and good, and here we are!!!, and rude, awwww jesus it's been 85 years..., slight spoilers for Mason's route in book 2, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24534073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostatequeen/pseuds/apostatequeen
Summary: Leila's incredibly skilled at lying to herself, but not so good at lying to Felix.But no matter what he says, her feelings for Mason are purely platonic. She's sure of it.
Relationships: Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	We Lie to Ourselves Most of All

**Author's Note:**

> See end for trigger warnings. <3

Felix flips back onto the couch with a huff, his socked feet nearly kicking her hands. “You know, when you mentioned knitting socks for me I thought it would be…” he trailed off waving a hand vaguely in her direction. 

Leila snorts and rearranges her yarn so that Felix doesn’t end up hopelessly tangling it, “Less time consuming? More interesting to watch? If you're bored,” she teases, her eyes still glued on her knitting, “that’s what the junk food and movies are for. If you keep talking, you’re going to miss all the good parts.”

“The best part is sitting right next to me,” Felix counters with a charming grin. Leila can’t help but beam at him, glad for the company even if she’s partially convinced he’s only here to watch out for supernatural threats. She’s come to at least _somewhat_ accept that Unit Bravo’s friendship comes with an even more fervent overprotectiveness than they’d started out with. But Felix’s bright cheer had a way of washing away the irritation she felt whenever Adam announced that she’d be having a guest that night.

She patiently lifts her knitting while he squirms and rearranges throw pillows until he’s in a more upright position, feet still firmly planted in her lap. When she puts it down again and starts to pick up where she left off, the silence makes her pause. She glances at him to find amber eyes that are bright in a way that makes her feel wary. The knitting is carefully set on the side table, she’s in no mood to drop stitches because Felix was up to… something.

“You know, it’s interesting…” He trails off too casually, and Leila tilts her head inquisitively. Logically, she understands he’s deliberately piquing her curiosity so that he has her full attention. But if anything, she’s learned it can be better to ride out whatever he has to say in her apartment, rather than wait for him to bring it up in front of the whole unit.

He drums his fingers on the back of her couch, “You know, you and Mason were kind of a surprise.”

Leila snorts inelegantly, “If by that you mean you’re surprised I got past his attitude, sure. But you know me,” she smiles sunnily, “I won him over with my sparkling personality and the way my ass looks in skinny jeans.”

Felix starts to _cackle,_ and Leila joins him with a few giggles of her own. He settles down a moment later, wiping a stray tear from his eyes,”The group really is better with you around you know.”

He pauses and Leila suspects that he has more to say, and starts to feel an inkling of unease. But really, how serious can the conversation be? He never expressed a problem with them. Adam, on the other hand...

“You’re like,” he gestures to all of her in a way Leila finds both funny and vaguely insulting, “You’re all sunshine and positivity, right?”

Um?

He rushes forward without waiting for an answer, leaning closer as he becomes more animated. “And you knit, and read all the time, so why aren’t you looking for someone like that?”

Leila blinks, “Someone who knits?”

The vampire rolls his eyes, “ _No,_ someone who wants a relationship, the works!” He waggles his eyebrows, but it doesn’t make her smile for once. She’s too busy looking at his face, always so open, his eyes expectant. But this isn’t the open curiosity of a genuine question, it’s like he’s waiting for something in particular. But what? Does he think he knows what she’s about to say? Is there something he _wants_ her to say? This conversation has taken an odd turn, and she feels like she’s walking on unfamiliar ground.

Where was this coming from?

Felix starts to squirm under her scrutiny, so she gentles her expression and counters him lightly, “I can’t want something casual?”

“Is that what you want?” He fires back almost immediately, eyes roving over her face with intent. Against her will, Leila’s heart begins to beat with a strange sort of anxiety. But what is there to be nervous about?

So she forces a teasing smile, “Are you asking about my _intentions_ toward Mason?”

“No,” the joviality has faded from his expression entirely, “I want to know what _you_ want.”

He looks almost worried, and a pang trembles right through her heart. Her hand rests gently on his ankle, squeezing it lightly with an affectionate smile, “Exactly what I said, something casual. He’s having fun, and I’m having quite a lot of fun.” 

His lips quirk into a small smile, “Yeah, you’re obviously desperate for fun. Sitting with me in your apartment, knitting on a Friday night.”

“Fuck off,” she protests half-heartedly, covering her face with her hands as Felix bursts into laughter at the rarely heard profanity. 

She giggles with him a little, and when their laughter stops she pauses, mulling over what she’s about to say. 

“I’m not exactly good at relaxing,” she gestures at her knitting and the clock that reads 2:30 AM. “So I’m not really good at sleeping, either. I overthink _everything,”_ she says, smiling ruefully after Felix snorts in evident agreement.

Leila tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugs, “But being with Mason is simple. I don’t have to guess what he wants, because he’s already made it clear. It’s a relief, you know? To have things just out in the open, to want the same thing someone else wants and just be happy with where you are. We have fun,” her lips quirk into a small smile, “And for once I stop thinking and I get to just...be.”

The explanation feels wholly inadequate. But how is she supposed to describe the sheer, inexhaustible _happiness_ of being with Mason, without Felix misinterpreting it as something else? If she talks about how they don’t even need to have sex, that the relief starts when he walks into the room and she starts gravitating toward him, he’ll think it’s more than it is. He'll think she's looking for something more, when she's not.

Better to keep that to herself.

“I don’t get that with anyone else,” she sighs.

Felix blinks slowly, and his hopeful expression has her feeling nervous, even when he visibly tries to tamp it down. “And that’s it? Fun and relief? Is that why you freaked when he was injured?”

“I would freak if _any_ of you got injured!”

“But would you _kiss it better?_ ” 

Leila scoffs, and tries to push his feet off her with no success, “Not with that attitude, I won’t!”

His voice is suddenly quieter, “Is he the first person you look for when you walk into a team meeting because you like having fun?”

He pauses, and her heart starts pounding again. He doesn’t make her wait long, “Is that why you avoid wearing perfume when you know you’re going to see him? Is that why you smile every time he looks at you?”

“He’s my friend,” she nearly croaks. She takes a moment to clear her throat, “I worry about him, like I would for any of you. I’m being considerate.”

“Right,” his eyebrows arch doubtfully, “because what you feel is so casual and light.” He almost looks worried, but the moment passes them by as an explosion in the long ignored movie makes them jump. 

With some shared giggles, they both settle once again. But now Felix’s words stick in her mind so stubbornly that it takes all her effort to push them aside. However, if anything she's gifted at throwing herself into everything _else_ to escape. The odd conversation is forgotten a few days later after her concentrated effort to do so.

At least, that's what she tells herself.

* * *

Nightmares always end the same way.

Leila’s eyes snap open, the nightmare less vivid than usual, but the emotions of it still thrumming underneath her skin. For a moment, when it’s only a slowly growing panic in the pit of her stomach, she feels cheated. She’s cheated of her post-afterglow calm and the quiet contentment of Mason’s warmth within arm’s reach. She has so little time to enjoy this before he slips out and back to the warehouse, and she was going to spend it having a goddamned panic attack.

She has the worst luck.

Luckily, Mason is still sleeping, his body curled around hers but just far enough that she has a chance of not waking him. Maybe... _if_ she doesn’t get up and takes care to be as quiet as possible. Her heart picks up pace, and soon her hands begin to tremble. When the full body trembling starts just a moment later, she laces her fingers together and focuses on the far wall, where the moon has painted silhouettes of the plants on her windowsill.

Mason, for all of his superior senses, is still asleep.

 _Small blessings,_ she thinks, eyes still glued on the wall.

She presses her eyes shut and takes measured breaths. If she leaves the bed, he’ll definitely wake up. If she stays and he sees her like this…

The dread only grows bigger and her heart pounds even harder. At this point the effort of staying perfectly still has rendered her breath shaky and uneven. Leila is so jittery that the warm hand that touches her shoulder makes her yelp.

“What happened?” Mason’s voice is gravelly with sleep, but still alert. Once he sees that she isn’t flinching away from his touch, he gently rolls her over to face him. Leila obliges and shifts so that she’s eye level with him. She starts to reach out and hesitates, fingers inches from his, so Mason closes the gap and places one hand between hers. Even with that comforting touch, Mason is frowning and waiting for her answer.

“I had a nightmare,” she whispers. The sound of her heart feels like it's drowning her words out.

His gray eyes are narrowed slightly, but not angrily. He moves his free hand to cup her still shaking hands within both of his, and the steadiness of them makes her feel anchored and less like she’s about to shake to pieces. “Murphy?”

She gives him a one-shouldered shrug and grimaces, “Among other things. I’m getting used to it.” Leila nearly winces at her defensive tone, but Mason doesn’t respond. He only looks at her levelly, maybe thinking of the last time she’d woken up from a nightmare. Maybe thinking she was weak. Maybe thinking that he was better off--

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” he interrupts her thoughts with a sharp tone. He’s frowning now, and when he pulls his hands away the panic _spikes,_ until his arm wraps around her to pull her tight to him. Her hands are now trapped between them and planted firmly on his chest, and her legs are tangled with his. His face is only inches from hers now, and his expression is...unknowable. She can’t quite place it, she only knows that it makes her chest ache with fondness. He reaches up to hold her chin ever so gently and to lightly trace a thumb over lips that are stuttering out uneven breaths.

“What do you need?”

The simple questions makes her tear up, and the fact that she _knows_ he can sense her tears has her tearing up even more in pure shame, and _that_ has her taking in a shuddering breath. She closes her eyes, determined that she will at least save her pride by keeping them from falling.

 _He asked you because he wants to help,_ the only functional part of her brain insists. So she gathers the words to tell him what she needs.

“Just stay with me like this? Please?” 

A beat passes in silence. He releases her chin to snake his arm around her and tuck her even more firmly into his chest. He cups his hand around the back of her neck, rubbing circles with his thumb behind her ear. In a strange role reversal, her lips are only inches from his neck. The scent of sandalwood surrounds her here, and it’s only now that she notices the thundering of her heart starting to slow.

That’s how they stay. Mason is silent, and the steady beat of his heart is soon matched by hers. For a moment, Leila is struck by the change. This feels… intimate. This feels like the kiss she’d given him after rescuing Sanja, like sitting on a rooftop with him in the middle of the night and having a real conversation. Instead of the pure fucking shame she expects to feel after letting him see her like this she feels purely at peace. He holds her like she’s important to him in a way that means more than friendship and teamwork. 

Her throat tightens painfully at the thought. She knows it’s not true, and her heart hurts regardless. It’s fine though, what they have is what they both want. 

Yet the conversation she’d had with Felix rattles around in her skull so persistently that she can almost _hear_ him ask, _Is that what you want?_ Is this intimacy something she wants? Is she looking for more than Mason can give? Has she set herself up for disappointment yet again? Or has she learned her lesson by now? It’s the last thought that has her snapping out of her anxious thoughts.

So, of course, she ruins the moment.

“This is nice,” she forces her lips into a sly smile, “I never took you for someone who cuddles.”

Leila forcibly pushes the moment away and lets herself laugh at the disgruntled rumble in Mason’s chest as he protests, “We are not—“

He starts to pull away and she squeaks in protest, “Let me _finish_ ,” and scrambles to roll on top of him with a breathless laugh at the scowl on his face. _What a grump_ , she thinks, all the while knowing he could push her away at any moment. Arms braced on either side, she reaches a hand up to his face and irons the lines out with a fingertip. The most shocking part is he lets her, his scowl dropping from his face and looking as if he’s in a trance.

_ He’s my friend,  _ she thinks. Of that at least, she is sure. This sentimentality is platonic, it has to be, and she swears that’s what compels her to drop a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. When she pulls away, she’s still so close that her lips brush his with every word, “Thank you. For staying.”

They hang there for a moment, just breathing, afraid to break the moment. Then she feels fingertips trailing down her spine, and she squirms with a helpless shiver.

Mason smirks, and in a flash he flips them over, effectively pinning her. She smiles up at him as brilliantly as she can, completely content and happy. He huffs out a laugh and presses a kiss to her neck before whispering against her skin, “Why would I leave? I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Detective has a mild anxiety attack and very vaguely refers to a traumatic experience.


End file.
